Escape the Day
by CrookedSpoon
Summary: Ficlet. Introspective of Miranda at the beginning of The Rewinding Town arc.


**Title**: Escape the Day  
**Characters/Pairings:** Miranda  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count:** 666  
**Warnings**: None in particular.  
**Disclaimer**: Standard disclaimers apply.  
**Notes**: First DGM ficlet. Takes place during the beginning of The Rewinding Town. Written for the LJ community prompt-in-a-box.

* * *

Morning sunlight falls unfiltered through broken window panes onto a dusty wooden floor. Not enough to alight the whole room, only a weak puddle uncovering vague outlines in front of dark-patched gray walls. The smell of mildew and a rotting pumpkin penetrates the stale air.

The house wears the forlorn feeling of abandonment like a heavy cloak, as if nobody has lived there in years.

It's almost true.  
Almost.

Miranda, the occupant, cannot call what she is doing "living." Surviving for one more day - time and again - is more like it. Clinging to a tiny thread of hope that everything will be different soon. Better. She will not go mad. Everything will be fine soon. _Soon_.

When is soon?  
Can she survive until then?

Miranda is trembling in fear, afraid of the new day. Afraid it will be no different from the ones before. Another repeated day would be unbearable. Doing the same actions over and over, experiencing the same things over and over. Why is she the only one who notices? Has she really gone mad, trapped in her own mind, doomed to face the day of her one hundredth dismissal for the rest of her live? Where has she gone wrong?

She buries her tousled head into her hands. Her eyes are dry and burn when she closes them, too many conflicting feelings clog them up before she can cry in desperation like she wants to. She is afraid to cry, even though it means clearing her head, her thoughts, her fears. It also means letting go, losing control and that is what she is afraid of the most. Afraid she will never be able to stop once she lets out the first tear.

All she can do is stare wildly into a world that shuns her.

And rest her back against her only friend, the broken wall clock. Her solid and reassuring wall clock. Its strike is soothing, able to penetrate to the depths of her soul and momentarily numb all her sorrows. It is the only thing that understands her, because it is just as useless as herself.

No matter how often she tries, nothing ever works for her. Is this why "today" repeats? No more chances to try and do better? Is this her punishment for being a failure?

_Dear God in Heaven, if you can hear me_, she prays, _please let this end._

Reluctantly she steps outside, hoping that "today" time will continue flowing its normal course. But it doesn't.

It _doesn't_.  
Why?

She walks down the cobbled street, expecting to be splashed with mud any second. She knows what will happen "today" and when it will happen. It has been the same for the past thirty days.

Instead, a monster appears.

A deviation!

Miranda's thoughts whirl. She should have been splashed with mud. Not attacked.

A good deviation  
or a bad deviation?

The monster raises its metallic arm, ready to crush her skull.

She's about to be killed!  
Definately a bad deviation!

Oh Lord Almighty, have her prayers been heard? Is this the answer?

But Miranda does not want to die!  
This was not what she meant by "ending this all"!

She justs wants to escape this rewinding day. Is this too much to ask for?  
How can she do something - _anything _- right if she dies now?

_Where is the Innocence_, the monster growls.

Does this mean there is no innocence left in her?  
Oh, rotten Miranda, now you've done it!

Escape, escape, escape. All that's on her mind. Escape!

She notices a small, black-cloaked figure - another deviation - in the alley, when the monster drops her. _Escape!_

She runs and runs and runs, crying tears of joy, of relief, of gratitude. Have her prayers been heard?  
Has she escaped "today"?

The newspaper still reads October 9th. For the 30th time.

The couple next door have their violent argument and the children on the street make fun of "unlucky Miranda."

Nothing will change.  
Not one thing.


End file.
